Blood and Monsters
by 6GunSally
Summary: Manfred Von Karma is consumed by his need for vengeance and vows to seek out Miles Edgeworth and destroy him. A vampire AU. Expect blood and guts, a little Edgeziska (because I like them) and some tragedy. This isn't a crossover. This is my first foray into horror/suspense... ON HIATUS
1. Prologue: A Lesser Man

_**Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).**_

_**This story is a vampire AU. It's not crossed over with any other stories, but if you hate vampires you might want to steer clear.**_

* * *

**Blood and Monsters**

**Prologue:**

**A Lesser Man**

Manfred Von Karma turned in the darkness. It was a heavy darkness, so black it was disorienting. It stank. It was damp. But he preferred this to his cell and the lowlife he shared it with. Some warned him that the hole would drive him mad. Some said he was already mad enough when he'd arrived.

As he sat in the dark, forehead pressed against the cold concrete wall he panted. Like a dog. Or a wolf. His own stinking breath puffed against the wall and warmed his face some. He sat there and panted and thought. His thoughts were heavy with the destruction of Miles Edgeworth.

The boy was only an afterthought. He'd ever been an extra thing, hanging in the periphery. It was the father that he wanted. He killed Gregory Edgeworth eighteen years ago. The boy had been an extra thing.

It wasn't unheard of. To raise the child of an enemy to seek further revenge on the line. It wasn't an idea new to the world. But this kind of backfire was unexpected. Nevertheless, Manfred Von Karma was still alive. This wasn't over yet.

So he sat, and he panted into the wall for warmth. He thought and he brooded. He'd make himself as ready as he could. Readiness—that was something he had power over. He could control his readiness. What he didn't control was opportunity. So he waited. And he thought. And he brooded.

They brought him out of the hole and it was sunny. There were windows in the corridor. The sun burned his eyes. He was supposed to go in for two days this last stint. It might have been thirty hours. Or thirty days. It never made any difference.

Three years in a maximum security prison with the lowly undignified criminals that populated that place were not kind to Manfred Von Karma. None of them were like him. These were the children of poor folk, or immigrants. They were uncouth, uneducated, and his lifetime on the other end of that continuum created an immense rift between him and the other inmates.

No matter. He did not come here for friends. He did not come here for amenities. According to the judges, he'd come here to die.

But Manfred was a stubborn old man. Nearly three years in the prison—not to mention what accumulated to several months in solitary—had left him rail thin and hunched and much more reticent. How the tables had turned.

There were no laws here. No great intellectual undertaking for a man like him. So he'd sit and think and brood. Always he thought of Miles Edgeworth. Miles Edgeworth needed to die—not just die, but suffer and die. The longer he could keep him at the suffering the better.

He had daughters of his own. Two of them. But girls were the domain of wives. If that foolish woman hadn't left him, he wouldn't have been left with the little one. Girls were the property of women. But oh how he loved using the little one to torture the boy. When she was small she'd do whatever he asked. It was innocence at it's cruelest. He never understood why she turned so quickly and so completely against him. He never understood her devotion to Miles Edgeworth.

But then, the Edgeworths were a nasty lot. Manipulative, cunning, malicious. It was in the blood. You can change the environment, but you can't change the blood.

When they dragged him to his cell he was shocked to find a new cellmate. The man was reading a book on his arrival and he did not stir, nor did he seem bothered in anyway by the noise of the shackles and chains—the clattering of bars.

Manfred crawled into his bunk and closed his eyes against the intruding light, artificial though it was. He sought the quiet comforting embrace of darkness.

"Luke Atmey," the man said some time after the guard had gone and the world had settled back into stillness. Manfred ignored him. He had no desire to look at anyone.

"Luke Atmey," the man repeated after a time.

"NO!" Manfred shouted at him, "Curse you dog! I will kill you! I'll rip out your guts and watch you writhe!"

The man pulled further into his bunk and said nothing else for a long time.

When the guards came again, noisily through the corridors, and he heard the voices of small conversations in the air around him, the sudden stirring of two hundred and twenty-nine souls condemned. Chains rattled, bars clanked, and they were shuffled like cattle through the chutes for the slaughter.

Of course, they weren't disposed of then, not yet. They all had a time scheduled. The chance for appeal. Another delay. The death penalty. Ha! They seemed more intent on the penalty.

Manfred Von Karma followed the shuffle with his cell mate—some pointy nosed fop with a shock of blonde hair and small dark eyes that darted around capriciously—pressed close behind him. In the cafeteria they received their trays and the fop sat beside him at the table.

"I'm Luke," the man said while they ate, "Luke Atmey."

Manfred glared sidelong at him. He did not speak with petty criminals.

Atmey—for indeed, that was his name—didn't make any further attempts at conversation with him. Though Manfred did have the unique pleasure of hearing several conversations flit around him casually, like this was some diner cafeteria, and not death row.

The food was simple and beneath him. But he ate because that kind of death was for lesser men than he. He would die by the needles and chemicals prescribed by the state or he would die killing Miles Edgeworth. Manfred never disregarded the latter as an option for him.

After the evening meal they were shuffled into the small courtyard to walk in a circle for thirty minutes. They weren't allowed to talk, but the guards never really enforced that so long as the lot of them stayed orderly and peaceful. Atmey was in line behind him bragging about his prowess as a detective of some sort. Manfred felt the beginnings of something much darker starting to stir within him. He hadn't had a feeling like that for eighteen years.

Manfred managed to reign in the darkness for three days. The guard that found Luke Atmey vomited into his hands and left the cell covered in his own sick. Manfred laughed. The reaction was kind of funny.

They wrapped up his arms and put a cage on is face and brought in a doctor. But Manfred didn't want to talk about it. He wanted his hole. Apparently, the hole wasn't enough for someone like him.

They removed him to another part of the complex and he was left in a padded cell when he wasn't being studied—poked and prodded—like some depraved madman. But Luke Atmey was asking for it. So was Gregory Edgeworth.

He wasn't able to count the days or nights while he was confined to that padded cell. It might have been a few days or a few weeks or months even. All he knew was that it had become normal for him. By the time they transferred him to the ward, he'd forgotten to miss his old cell on death row.

The ward was the worst yet. The rooms were long and open bayed and he was surrounded by incoherent crazies. People that argued with voices in their heads or asked startling questions that made no sense—not that Manfred was one anyone sought for conversation.

He'd been in the ward for several weeks when he received a visitor. Funny, no one had visited Manfred Von Karma in three years. And, of all the visitors he could have had it had to be him—Miles Edgeworth.

Edgeworth looked good. In high health and spirit—it was maddening. Just seeing the man was torture. Seeing him thriving like he was, almost unbearable.

Edgeworth was seated on a metal folding chair outside of the clear plexi-glass cell for meeting visitors. They weren't allowed any direct contact—Manfred was, after all, a dangerous criminal—not that he'd wanted to touch the bastard anyway.

He would be twenty-eight now, Manfred thought—counting the years. He didn't look twenty-eight, but then maybe it was his own age that made young men seem younger than he'd guessed. Edgeworth was wearing a dark sweater over dark slacks—not black—but Manfred couldn't tell, no did he care. The shirt that peeked from the collar of the sweater was a pale pink color—Miles Edgeworth hadn't changed a bit.

"It's been a while," Edgeworth said his tone casual but respectful, Manfred wouldn't expect any less, "I meant to visit when I'd heard you'd been moved, sir. But never found the time."

Manfred stared at him hungrily, like a wolf eyes a fawn or a lamb in the spring after a hard winter. It was as if he'd forgotten how to do this. Edgeworth didn't say anything more, he'd ever been rather laconic when left to his own devices. So they stared at each other for a long awkward minute—or ten. Neither of them seemed to be counting.

He was a very handsome young man, dark hair that shone, pale skin, pale eyes, tall, broad shouldered… But Manfred recognized Gregory in those handsome features. His old enemy still lived in that young man—his spawn.

"What do you want!" Manfred croaked, his voice rusty with torpor, Edgeworth jumped a little in his seat. The old man smiled, he still had power over Miles Edgeworth.

"I don't want anything Mister Von Karma," Edgeworth said, "But I—I felt it would be…"

"You felt sorry for me? You felt guilty about what you did to the man who made you what you are?"

Edgeworth pursed his lips and his brows twitched slightly, "Yes, well, Franziska asked me to see how you were. Since you'd been placed here and it's uncertain when… well…"

"When I'll be put to death?" Manfred grinned, "You wish I was dead don't you, Miles Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth met him with a steady glare, "I don't. You brought this on yourself, Mister Von Karma. This was the path you chose."

"Don't talk to me like that, fool!"

Edgeworth remained silent.

"You know, your father was asleep when I shot him. He never put up a fight."

Edgeworth didn't rise to the bait and only stared coolly at him.

"When I get my chance, I will kill you too, Miles Edgeworth. Just you wait."

"Oh my," Edgeworth said and leaned back precariously in the folding chair, "You really have gone mad. You're raving."

Manfred made a noise like a growl—he hadn't meant to say that out loud, had he?

Edgeworth sat up and the front two legs of the chair hit the concrete floor with a thump that startled the old man. He stood still looking down at his old mentor and Manfred glared defiantly at him like some cornered varmint.

"Either way," Edgeworth said his words drawled a little, "I was supposed to tell you that I've asked her to marry me. She asked if I'd come for your blessing. Not that it will change anything whether you give it or not."

"You want to marry my little one?"

"She's not a child anymore," Edgeworth said.

"You?"

"I'm rather certain the feelings between us are mutual," Edgeworth said.

"I'll kill you."

"Right," Edgeworth said and turned to leave, "I'm relieved she didn't have to see this. Good bye Mister Von Karma."

Then he left. Manfred stared at his retreating back for a moment and then slammed his hands and face against the plexi-glass roaring like an animal. A lesser man might've cried. A lesser man might've have been overcome with guilt and regret and other such sentiment. But not Manfred Von Karma.

Manfred Von Karma found a new resolve.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Is this spooky?**_

(sorry for jumping around on so many stories—but I have to drop ideas as they come—in a way it makes everything better. Plus I'm prone to several weeks of frantic activity and inspiration followed by months of writer's block and depression where creativity dies.)

So the prologue of my latest crazy idea. This is a vampire story (If you were wondering) but don't expect Twilight. I guess I was feeling guilty about Magic Miles being a joke story and not a horror story so I thought I'd use this to take a walk on the dark side. Enjoy!

BTW, Luke Atmey gets on my nerves. So I had Manfred kill him.

Tell me how you like it!


	2. One: Perfect

**One**

**Perfect**

* * *

Edgeworth sat on the closed toilet seat in the confined space of the stall. He wasn't fond of enclosed spaces, but the harried bustle before the ceremony suddenly seemed worse. He sat there and stared at his hands and wondered if he should really go through with this.

He stood suddenly and picked up the toilet seat and leaned forward to vomit. He gagged but nothing came—well three times earlier and no breakfast might have something to do with it. He closed the seat and sat on it and covered his head with his hands.

"Hey Edgeworth!"

Damn. Here comes Phoenix Wright.

Phoenix banged on the stall door, "Hey shit or get off the pot Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth stood indignantly on his side of the stall door, "See here, Wright! Don't come around with your vulgar remarks and your—"

"Come on," Phoenix said, "Just open the door."

"I-I don't want to!"

Phoenix chuckled on the other side of the door.

"You mean to say you dragged me off of my couch and made me take a shower and put on this monkey suit—just so you could hide in the bathroom all day?"

"Don't you shower everyday?" Edgeworth's voice was a mix of curiosity and disgust.

"Stop changing the subject," Phoenix said, "Come on, I thought we could talk before it starts."

"Aren't we talking?" Edgeworth said.

"What's gotten into you? Don't tell me you got cold feet?"

"No, my feet are fine."

"Edgeworth…"

He made an irritated tick against his teeth and unlocked the stall. Phoenix pushed it in before he could pull the door open. Phoenix grinned at him.

"You look like a million bucks, man," Phoenix slapped his shoulder, "I didn't think you could dress up anymore than you already do."

"I'm glad you took off that stupid hat," Edgeworth muttered and went to the row of sinks, "and that you took a shower."

Phoenix rolled his eyes, "Gumshoe's patrolling the perimeter outside, he thinks you've escaped and run off."

"I wouldn't want to upset her," Edgeworth said.

Phoenix nodded solemnly, "I hear you. Do you remember Adrian Andrews?"

"No," Edgeworth said.

"Well, Franziska taught her how to use a whip," Phoenix said.

"Hmmm… I'm worried that all of the bridesmaids are carrying whips today."

"All the more reason to get out there," Phoenix said, "and placate them."

* * *

Manfred Von Karma lay on his side in his bed in the dark ward. This wasn't like sleeping in any old open bay. The crazies were still crazy at night.

There were mutters and whispered conversations mingled in the small sounds of sleep. It was maddening.

"Manfred!"

He turned over in the small creaking infirmary bed he was allotted and dragged his pillow up over his head. It was the sallow man again.

The sallow man had been trying to converse with him ever since his visit from Miles Edgeworth. The man was never around during the day—Manfred couldn't figure out where he hid in the ward.

The sallow man had some manner of affliction and he was overly sensitive to sunlight. He was active at night, reading books by candlelight and scribbling in a small black journal. Rumors abounded in his regard.

They say he's been here since they opened the ward—decades ago. The man was young—in his early thirties or late twenties—but his illness gave him a sickly pallor and he was frighteningly thin. He rarely spoke to anyone.

Manfred groaned. Why the sallow man had chosen him to be the sudden exception was beyond him. He thought about disposing of him—the way he did Atmey—but his heart wasn't in it.

"Manfred Von Karma!"

He pressed the pillow over his ears. Sleep would come soon, and the sallow man was never around in the daytime.

* * *

Phoenix was seated at the head table to Edgeworth's left. She was seated two spaces to Franziska's right, beside Adrian Andrews. He was trying to focus on the happy couple beginning their first dance as husband and wife. He was trying very hard not to turn toward Maya Fey.

"Daddy!"

Trucy would be nine soon. She was a doll in lace and frills for the wedding. She climbed into Edgeworth's vacated seat.

"Daddy, did you see me at the ceremony?"

Franziska's wedding planner had asked for flower girls to lead the precession. Pearls, Truce, and a couple of little German girls were given the roles. Phoenix couldn't be prouder of her—plus, he was glad. It showed acceptance. A lot of his friends were still wierded out by the adoption.

"Of course, you were the best flower girl," he said reaching for her, "Come on, that's the groom's chair."

He pulled Trucy into his lap and rested his chin in her hair. He raised an eyebrow—Edgeworth could dance… Why did this surprise him? He looked over at Maya smiling at the joke in his head—and then remembered that they hadn't talked since—it was almost a year now. Old habits die hard.

"Daddy, will other people dance too?" Trucy asked him never shifting her gaze never leaving the bride and groom on the dance floor.

Phoenix reached over her and picked up his champagne flute, "Sure, but they get the first dance."

"Who will you dance with, Daddy?"

Phoenix smiled and hugged her tight, "Why, I got the prettiest girl at the party right here."

* * *

"Give me one reason not to kill you!"

"You don't want to," the sallow man grinned showing a mouthful of gray teeth and the receding gums of a heavy smoker or someone much older. Manfred made a face at him and dropped the pillow onto the floor at his feet.

"Who are you?"

"Oh I've been called many things," the sallow man said.

Manfred Von Karma narrowed his eyes skeptically.

"Invariably, they settle with George," the sallow man said, "And George is as good a name as any."

"Obviously you know who I am," Manfred said.

"Yes," George said, "I've been observing you. You seem different, somehow."

Manfred's lips twitched slightly, "What do you want?"

The sallow man smiled again, "There's only one thing I long for, Mister Von Karma."

Manfred leaned back on his heel, "I don't care for rhyming and games. You will answer my question or I will leave."

"I know what you want," the sallow man said, "You want revenge."

Manfred had already turned to go back to his assigned bed. But he paused and turned his head.

"I only want the release of death."

* * *

"So like, Edgey is one of my most bestest friends in the whole world," Larry Butz sat down on the stool he'd dragged onto the dance floor, "And Franzy is like my ultimate muse."

Edgeworth turned and shot Phoenix a look of uncertainty. Phoenix chuckled.

"So I wrote this song for them," Larry continued. The percussive consonants in his speech boomed against the mike and echoed awkwardly in the hall. He scooted his stool back an inch or two and started strumming the ukulele he was holding.

Phoenix grinned. He saw Franziska lean into Edgeworth's shoulder in his periphery and whisper in his ear. The tinny plinking sounds of the instrument filled the hall.

Larry cleared his throat awkwardly into the mike as he leaned forward to sing.

_"You ask me if I love you; and I choke on my reply…"_

_Plinka. Plinka. Plink. Plink_.

_"I'd rather hurt you honestly than mislead you wiiith a lie…"_

_ Plink. Plinky plink. Plink._

_ "And who am I to judge you, on what you say or do?"_

_ Plinka plink. Plinka plink._

_ "I'm only just beginning to seee the reeeal you."_

_ Plinky plink._

_ "And sometimes when we touch…"_

Edgeworth leaned slightly toward Phoenix, "Larry is quite good with that little guitar… But he's written a very inappropriate song."

_"The honesty's too much, and I haaave to close my eyes and hide…"_

Phoenix grinned. He didn't want to ruin it for Larry, and he was pretty sure Edgeworth would never find out that Larry didn't write that song for them.

"Let him have his moment," Phoenix said.

_Plinka plinka. Plink. Plink._

* * *

He held his breath apprehensively while the sallow, bony fingers clasped his arm at the wrist. He held back instinctively and with no small measure of disgust as the sallow man brought the meat of his forearm to his mouth. The sallow man bit down. Manfred jerked slightly, but his arm was held fast.

Almost no blood escaped the sallow man's greedy lips.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Yay! They got married! (It's more tragic this way…)**_

Chapter one is me loading up the sweetness so that the bitter is more bitter… I'm so evil…

Ewww… Does Hobo Phoenix shower?

Larry's song is _**"Sometimes When We Touch" written by Dan Hill**_—funniest GEICO commercial ever…

I don't know why Phoenix is always Phoenix and Edgeworth is Edgeworth… I did another story in Edgeworth's POV (like 150,000 words of his POV) and I used "Miles" in that POV—it felt so wrong…

I know you were wondering where the vampireness was going to come from…

Review! (Or undead Manfred Von Karma will get you)


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